Gay Rooster, I Mean, Chicken
by Sunburned-Stickperson
Summary: Rebecca wants Shaun to play "Gay Chicken" with Desmond. Shaun doesn't see why he should.


**Bahhaha! I love my job! I love these new prompts!**

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><p>"Oh come on, you even look gay. Prove your masculinity!"<p>

"And, pray tell, Rebecca, how will this prove my masculinity?"

"By seeing who has more balls!"

"By groping and necking each other until one of us gives?"

"Exactly."

Shaun had refused vehemently. And that was how he found himself a bar, with a strong drink in his hand, and Rebecca trying to get alcohol into him. He tipped the drink back and finished it in one go—he thanked the late nights at the University for his resistance to the toxin.

"No, Rebecca. No more, and I am not playing 'faggot rooster.'"

"Gay Chicken. Just once! Come on! It'll give me and Lucy something to giggle about!"

"No. Absolutely not."

The other female patrons at the bar were all ready watching him eagerly. He shook his head.

"I refuse."

"If Desmond agrees, would you—"

"Certainly…"

Rebecca punched the air.

"Not. I would never play 'Homosexual Hen'—"

"Gay Chicken!"

"Whatever, with that giant lummox of a man."

"Why not? Just once!"

"Because if I concede to 'Just once!' once, it will turn into 'Just one more time!' which will turn into 'Just to shut us up—Please?'"

Rebecca huffed and downed her drink, looking over to where Lucy was talking with Desmond. Desmond had actually asked to work free that night as a bartender, and the manager had agreed, saying anyone would be better than the original one. He signaled Desmond for another drink. If he was going to deal with Rebecca all night long, then he was going to need it.

Desmond slid him a drink, and he nodded in thanks. He sipped from it as she tugged on his sleeve. As the night wore on, He could feel the pleasant buzz of the alcohol in his veins. It was a pity he couldn't enjoy it with Rebecca's nagging. He turned and looked out over the small crowd.

Then, Desmond had an arm on either side of him and was in his personal space.

"Damn it, you stupid pillock, get out of my space."

He leaned in closer, and Shaun adjusted his glasses, refusing to back down.

"Get out of my space, you Neanderthal."

Desmond touched their noses together, and he smirked.

"I won't back down, if that's what you think. Let me guess, Lucy talked you into Switch-hitting Whitemeat, right?"

Desmond laughed, and the alcohol made it sound much too pleasing to his ears.

"Gay Chicken," Desmond murmured.

Shaun shrugged and grabbed Desmond's hoodie to pull him in closer. "It doesn't matter. I'm not going to back down."

Desmond grinned and touched his nose to Shaun's cheek. "I always win."

"I am superior to you in every way. You're not going to get me to back down."

He could feel the newer assassin's breath on his ear. "You're too cocky."

He ran his arms up and over Desmond's shoulders. "No, I am absolutely correct."

He nuzzled against Desmond's neck and tightened his grip. It had been too long since he had been this close to another man. He felt the younger man jerk slightly at his actions, then pause and run a hand up his thigh.

"I knew you couldn't hold a candle to me," Shaun whispered and let his tongue dart out to taste the sweat on the man's neck.

He felt Desmond jerk again and "harrumph" before slipping his hand under the historian's shirt. "I told you: I'm not gonna lose."

He hummed and licked his neck again, breathing deep. He smelled intoxicating—but that was the alcohol speaking. He hummed and pressed against that wandering hand going higher and up his shirt. He bit lightly at Desmond's neck, and he felt Desmond jerk again. He could take whatever he could dish out. He pressed a kiss to the underside of Desmond's jaw and slipped his hands under the hem of his pants.

The younger assassin was busy pressing kisses along his jaw and chin. With a smirk, he slipped his hands further in and grabbed his butt, getting a surprised yelp. Desmond jumped back, clasping his hands over his ass. He was bright red, and Shaun laughed. His clothes were skewed, and his belt was undone—Shaun didn't remember undoing the belt. He laughed again and straightened his glasses, leaning back triumphantly.

"I told you: you couldn't win. I beat you even at Flaming Cock-a-Doodle-Doo."

Desmond scowled. Rebecca was grinning lewdly, and Lucy was laughing. The others in the bar were also laughing, and he felt rather victorious. Desmond straightened up, brushed off his pants, and sauntered over like Altair. He straddled Shaun and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Gay Chicken, and I told you: I don't lose."

Shaun grinned: he was in for a fun night.


End file.
